


As You Are

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Relationships, Bisexuality, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Children, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pride Parades, Queer Sam Winchester, Queer Themes, Sam Winchester-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: An abbreviated history of Sam's queer identity, otherwise known as "Sam takes Dean Jr to Pride"
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 57
Collections: Forever Wincest Fest





	As You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Scippy said something about Sam taking DJ to Pride and then... this happened. It turned out somewhat angstier than the prompt would imply but fluff at the end.  
> This fic deals with queer issues beginning in the 80s and through the 2000s, and includes language and attitudes relevant to those eras.

Sam knew being queer could kill you before he knew ghosts or werewolves could. He was on the playground at the fifth school of his second grade year, and an older redheaded boy was holding court by the monkeybars. “Queers are all sick,” he announced. “It’s contagious and if you get it you’ll die.” Sam didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he believed it because the other boy was the type who, in Sam’s wide experience with school bullies, would say “The new kid’s got lice” when that wasn’t true  _ at all.  _ At least not since that one time in kindergarten and that had been totally Dean’s fault. 

After that first time, Sam heard other things too - jokes between men in diners, insults muttered at truck stops, schoolyard taunts and name calling. He learned from watching a snowy news channel stolen from an upstairs neighbor that the boy in second grade had been talking about AIDS, and it really would kill you. That surprised Sam a little, because he’d been pretty sure the boy made that up. 

It wasn’t until he was almost 12 that he learned what being gay, or queer, or a faggot actually meant, other than being sick. Dean was complaining about some guy in his sophomore class ragging on Freddie Mercury for being queer. “He didn’t actually  _ say  _ Freddie deserved to die, which is a good thing, because then I would have popped him one and Dad would bust my ass if I got suspended for starting fights. But he was sure thinking it.” Dean shook his head. “No respect. Freddie’s a rockstar, he can put his dick anywhere he wants. Who cares if he was gay? He was one of the greatest musicians of all time. Anyway, I heard he fucked Princess Di, so he can’t have been  _ that  _ gay.” 

“How would he get AIDS if he wasn’t gay?” Sam asked. 

“Well you can get it from fu- from having sex with anyone, not just guys. That’s why you always gotta use a rubber.” 

“Having sex with guys?” Sam squeaked. 

“Uh.” Dean’s cheeks pinkened. “Yeah, Sammy. That’s what gay guys do.” 

Sex was still a nebulous concept that made Sam’s stomach feel weird when he thought about it, and he thought about it sort of a lot recently. Mostly he thought about the times he’d seen Dean kissing some girl after school. He knew sex was more than that, Dean had given him a whole talk after his useless 6th grade health class last year, but he still mostly pictured the way Dean would press up against some girl with his tongue obviously in her mouth. Sam thought sex was probably pretty much like that except without clothes, and it always made him sort of sweaty and squirmy to imagine. The idea of two boys doing that… 

Dean cleared his throat. “You want grilled cheese for dinner?” 

The first and only time Sam went to Pride in San Francisco was completely overwhelming. After years of confusion and miserable self-examination during his teen years, he’d eventually come to terms with the fact that being something like bisexual wasn’t nearly as important as being in love with his brother. California had been supposed to let him leave all that behind. 

He wouldn’t have considered Pride at all except Louis was out and proud and their whole friend group was going to support him. Sam and Jess had been dating a couple of months. Half a dozen of their friends took a bus two hours into the city. 

Standing on the sidewalk of Market Street, shoulder to shoulder with strangers and friends, watching the parade, Sam felt almost out of his body, like he had sometimes during hunts, but buoyant with it instead of fearful. He saw a second or third grade boy wearing a shirt that said I <3 MY GAY MOMS and Sam’s throat tightened with a sudden surge of tears. The colors, the glitter, the leather, all blurred briefly. The noise pounded in his ears. He was… glad. Glad for the celebration and defiance, glad for the good fight that didn’t involve silver bullets or shovels in graveyards.

Turning, out of the corner of his eye Sam saw a familiar figure - leather jacket over plaid, battered jeans, wide stance, buzzed fair hair. Sam couldn’t breathe. It was like getting thrown into a wall. The person turned - thin lips, soft jaw, button nose; a woman. Sam’s heart contracted painfully. 

He held it together until the parade was over. A quarter million people were milling around in the newly deserted street and streaming into Civic Center Plaza for the afterparty. Jess dragged him along by the hand to go look at the merchandise stalls. Sam tried not to hyperventilate. “My friend Sarah knows some really cool zine-makers who were gonna be here, let’s find them first, and then I wanted to get something for Becky. She was really bummed she had to work. Are you okay?” 

“I’m good. I’m just gonna-” he jerked his thumb at the porta-potties. “Meet back here in 10?”

He slid through the crowd, ducking his head to lose himself in the press of colorful, scantily clad civilians. He’d never seen so many people in one place. If being gay really was contagious, he thought hysterically, half of San Francisco would be rolling in rainbows. And then they might die. 

Ducking into an alley, he bent double and put his head between his knees. It wasn’t very private. There were a couple of drag queens smoking further down the alley, and a guy in leather checking something on his motorcycle. The air smelled like piss and nicotine as Sam drew in long, wheezing breaths. 

“Dude, you okay? You need water? Gatorade?” 

Sam lifted his head. It was another dyke but at least she didn’t look like his brother. Dean wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a jean jacket covered in hand-printed patches, including one that said Butch Bitch over the breast pocket. 

“Fine. I’m fine. I just… I never…” he choked out, stupidly close to tears again. “It’s all… a lot. I just need a minute.” 

“Hey.” She squeezed his shoulder briefly. “Take your time. Come as you are, right? Let me know if you want a Gatorade.”

Things changed. The colorful march on the streets of San Francisco was not the war Sam was fighting. He didn’t think about it for years, just like he didn’t think about Jessica’s Smurf tee-shirt or the LSATs. They were things that had been part of him once, but weren’t important anymore. 

Eventually, Sam and Dean came to terms with the fact that they’d been screwed up over each other, damned to hell, and functionally married for so long that sex didn’t make much of a difference one way or another, except that it loosened them up and made it easier to tolerate living with your brother for more than a decade. Made it something satisfying, something to cherish and anticipate. Something to come home to. 

There were times in his life that Sam thought that loving his brother would kill him, but not the way the boy on the playground had said. 

He thought that more often after Dean died. 

“Dad! Dad! Can I get my face painted?” Dean Junior tugged at Sam’s arm. 

Sam looked at the booth Dean was pointing towards. “It looks like there’s a little bit of a line.” 

“It’s okay I can wait. I wanna get my face painted.” He slipped a sticky hand in Sam’s. “Did you know face painting might be the oldest kind of art? Older than cave painting they think. I saw it on the History Channel.” 

They’d taken the bus into the city since parking was impossible during a festival. Dean was going into fourth grade next year and he was too big to put on Sam’s shoulders anymore to watch the parade, but Sam was too tall to politely stand at the front of the crowd, so they brought a blanket and sat on the curb. Or Sam sat, and Dean bounced around waving to the marchers and accepting candy and stickers and beads and generally charming everyone. 

Sam pulled a bottle of Gatorade out of his backpack as they waited in line, passing it to Dean. It was a hot June day, and he’d made sure they both had sunscreen and stayed hydrated. After almost a decade of parenthood, he still thought of his brother every time he made sure Dean Junior had snacks and water and sunscreen on. 

Dean was wearing a Captain America shirt with pink, purple, and blue on his shield. He’d picked it out himself and Sam had been baffled. “It’s cool, dad,” he’d explained, rolling his eyes so much like his uncle that Sam’s heart had turned over. “Everyone knows Steve Rogers is bi.” The shirt was covered in stickers. His son was currently a walking advertisement for: Proud Out Loud Queer Choir; PFLAG; Join Safe Schools Coalition; Central District Leather Club; Selby for Mayor; LOVE WINS; Dickens for Mayor; Center for LGBTQ Youth and Allies. He was also bedecked with mardi gras beads and a cheap feather boa that was already losing its feathers. 

The artist finished painting tiger stripes on a little girl and looked up at Dean. “Hey, have a seat. I’m Ash. What do you want painted?” 

“A lighting bolt!” Dean said, sitting down on the stool. “Like David Bowie.”

Ash grinned. “You like Bowie? He’s pretty retro.” They were wearing glittery fairy wings that matched their plum colored lipstick, and they had a mullet. Sam felt an ache of nostalgia, faint after so many years. 

“He’s on my uncle’s old records,” Dean said. “Did you know they used to play music on big pieces of plastic? I like to look through all the pictures on the albums now that I’m old enough to touch them. I used to have to ask my dad to play them for me but now I can put them on the turntable on my own.” 

Ash swirled their paintbrush through the red paint. “That’s awesome. One Ziggy Stardust coming right up.” 

“What’s your favorite music?” Dean asked, swinging his feet as Ash outlined the lightning bolt. 

Sam nudged him with his knee. “Sit still so they can work, buddy.” 

“Well, I listen to a lot of music. Some of my friends are in bands, so I go to their shows. Sort of electronic, punk stuff. But you like classic rock?” Ash traded brushes and started with yellow. “I do really love Queen.” 

Dean’s face split into a grin. “Me too! My dad says Freddie Mercury was one of the greatest musicians of all time. Did you know he was queer?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! [Reblog on tumblr here.](https://nevergettingoverwincest.tumblr.com/post/637810441986408448/sam-takes-dean-jr-to-pride-ficlet)  
> Disclaimer: I have never heard a historian say that face painting is older than cave painting, they probably have no way of knowing, but it sure sounds like it could be true, right? And also Freddie Mercury probs didn't sleep with Princess Di, may they both rest in peace forever and ever amen. <3 <3 <3


End file.
